Let me first start off by telling you how I feel about Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday, hands-down. I love everything about it: the sentiment, the gluttony, the family time. I love waking up late to the smell of a cooking turkey (Mom’s an early riser). I love reverting into an obnoxious child, which I invariably do when my sisters are around. I love getting all boozed up with my Grandpa before dinner and then lounging around in front of the fire with my nieces afterwards.
Anyway, Thanksgiving: it’s the best.
So, spending it in another hemisphere was kind of hard. But even though it made me really homesick, I wasn’t about to let it pass unnoticed. After searching far and wide, I found myself an 8-pound, $40 turkey (to put this into perspective, my Mom told me she bought a 29-pounder for $9). I found a pumpkin. I bought all the fixin’s. I was going all out. The only problem? I had no idea how to make any of it.
Skype to the rescue.
My sister, Katie, was nice enough to tell me how to make dressing. Her instructions, verbatim:
• Melt some butter and throw in onions and celery ‘til they’re soft.
• Sprinkle breadcrumbs with:
o Pepper (lots)
o Thyme
o Sage
o Poultry seasoning
o And maybe some rosemary if you feel like it.
• Pour the other stuff on top, stir it, and stuff it up the turkey’s bunghole.
Very precise, I’m sure you’ll agree. And apparently, “bunghole” is a technical culinary term. Listen for it on Top Chef.
Anyway, due to a minor oven snafu (snafu in the sense that I apparently have no idea how to use an oven), my turkey didn’t finish cooking until 9:30 at night. Which meant that my pumpkin pies didn’t finish until 10:30. Needless to say, my first attempt at Thanksgiving on my own was a long and arduous task. But in the end, it was a delicious one, so I’ll not complain.
But all deliciousness aside, when it comes to Thanksgiving, Dorothy Gale said it best, “There’s no place like home.”
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I miss you.
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